


Chasing Shadows

by Akiruchan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture - freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Although it's not really non-con?, Angst, Awkwardness, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Galra Keith (Voltron), Happy Ending, Lance and Keith need to use their words, Lance has nightmares, M/M, Memory Loss, Pining, Sexual Content, Some mention of non-con, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiruchan/pseuds/Akiruchan
Summary: Lance's life starts and ends with Keith. Who and what he was means very little when there's nothing to paint a picture of the past. The only familiarity in Lance's life comes in the shape of a boy with violet eyes and dark hair. Lance can't be sure of his past, but Keith could be his future. Somehow, he's quite okay with that.Or, Lance and Keith wake up on a distant planet with no memories of who they were. Together they try to make sense of this new life of theirs and what they might have once meant to one another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally broaching out into the Voltron fandom! This fic started as a two shot, but part one got too long so I'm chopping it in half. Once I get it revised it'll be up ASAP. 
> 
> Also, a quick note on the non-con. It is completely consensual when it happens. Due to occurrences that happen later on, it causes some surfacing of emotional turmoil that would be associated with the after affects of non-con. It's all very convoluted, but I thought to warn y'all ahead of time. Also, this won't be an issue till part two and three. 
> 
> If you have more specific questions on it, feel free to PM me. :) Otherwise enjoy!

A blast blinds the sky; the darkness of space now a radiant glow of reds and gold. It burns and blinds, tearing through everything within reach. Screaming echoes over the communicators; words jumbled due to static. Lance thinks it might be his name. Everything continues to blur as the now familiar pull of a wormhole twists at Lance’s stomach. The sensation can be likened to falling or being lurched unforgivingly into space. Panic churns in nauseating circles; Lance knows he’ll wretch until everything stills with an eerie deadness. The world stops spinning and Lance is floating. He floats until gravity catches up to him. The fall recalls the nausea to the forefront and Lance vomits. 

A fuzzy blip on the coms comes through the rush of air in Lance’s ears. Maybe it's his name, maybe it isn’t. Lance can’t quite make sense of anything nor does he feel the need to care. He thinks he’s hit his head and a worrying wetness spreads along his side. Blood flows through frantic fingers as they assess the damage. Lance doesn’t get far; the pain stills any further movement. He thinks that this will be where he dies, falling towards some unknown planet galaxies away from home. Shadows rim his vision, there can only be seconds left. 

“Lance!” 

He hears it clearly, but in that distant sort of way that reminds Lance of dreams, it's neither here nor there. 

“Keith?” Lance whispers, finding irony that Keith will be the last person Lance thinks of as he dies. Bastard did always have to have the last word. Perhaps hell awaits him. He’s taken enough lives to warrant it. Not that it matters now; his eyes begin slipping close with heavy fatigue. The blackness crawl at the edges of Lance’s vision, seeping into consume him. His consciousness fades with every tick and Lance falls into the inevitable abyss. 

\---

Lance wakes to an unfamiliar ceiling. It does not cross his mind to panic or question the situation. The sensations around him feel far too pleasant; the all-encompassing warmth provides nothing but comfort. Beneath him a soft mattress molds to his body while a heat radiates against his back. Lance finds it hard to do more than settle back into this alluring comfort, a cocoon of warmth. Everything seems out of focus and muddled, too unimportant to garner immediate attention. He could easily fall back asleep or maybe this is already a dream.

The tranquility of the moment breaks as the warm heat shifts. Lance’s eyes open with a start, suddenly it seems important that he panics. The bed contains no more comfort, the warmth nothing but deceiving. It becomes apparent in that moment that he is not alone within the bed. Lance has no memory to aid him in making sense of this situation. He cannot recall any circumstance that would lead to a situation such as this. His head snaps to the side, and Lance takes in the pale skin and dark hair of his bed mate. The sight calms him, the panic ebbing away, although he cannot explain why. Lance can only sense a faint familiarity that eases his fraying nerves. The boy, for he looks no older than Lance, shifts once more in the beginnings of wakefulness. 

Long dark lashes flutter and reveal eyes the color of violets. It looks unnatural, but as they catch the light of a window they shine almost blue. Lance is mesmerized and fails to form any sufficient words. They stare at one another within the silence, neither moving. Until suddenly the world shifts and Lance finds himself on the flow with a yelp. 

“Who the hell are you!?” the boy yells. He looks absolutely scandalized. Which, okay, Lance understands, but did he have to fling Lance to the floor? So much for first impressions.

Lance ponders the question, frowning when he finds he’s slightly unsure. “I’m Lance…” he says eventually. It’s a name, his name; he knows as much. There’s just nothing behind that name. There’s no identity, no history. It feels like a blank slate. Who is he? That’s a question Lance finds no answer to. It unsettles him, panic beginning to crawl back up Lance’s spine. 

The boy looks down upon him from over the bed's edge. It’s a calculating look filled with doubt. “You don’t sound sure,” he says. 

Lance doesn’t answer, instead volleying a question back. “And who are you? Do you make a habit of sneaking into other’s beds?” The boy blushes and looks indigently back. Serves him right, thinks Lance.

“Your bed!? It—it’s mine!” Lances notices that the boy is almost frantic with his response. He looks around eyes settling on nothing. The same strangeness seems to sit uneasily with this boy as it does Lance. A suspicion blooms easily in that moment.

Lance finds himself asking, “Or do you not know?” The boy stiffens and looks abruptly away. That hit a nerve.

The boy chooses not to answer that particular question. Lance does receive an answer to the previous. “I’m Keith,” the boy says this with a frown; eyes still bouncing from wall to wall of the room. 

A sudden comradery forms between them; Lance can feel it. It’s obvious they’re in the same boat. Lance takes this as a cue and tries to make it back onto the bed. He’s promptly pushed to the floor. “Stop that!” Lance squawks. “It’s our bed! Not just yours!” 

That causes a blush to rise on both their faces. Lance doesn’t comment or amend his statement. They were both asleep in said bed and neither knows who the rightful owner is. It’s the only assessment Lance can make. There are numerable explanations for why they came to share a bed. They couldn’t be siblings; did friends share beds at their age? One explanation, in particular, Lance isn’t even touching. Nope.

“Personal space!” 

“Dude, it’s a huge bed!” 

They fall into smooth banter that feels more familiar than it should. There's a rhythm to it that seems far too well practiced for strangers. Perhaps they might be a little better acquainted than Lance can guess. It’s within those moments that the door opens, slow and steady, breaking the boys off mid-rant. 

A woman enters with the click of heels, long thin and elegant. She looks strange, very different to the features Lance recognizes as belonging to Keith and what he knows of himself. Her skin shimmers with an almost translucent lavender. A gleam ripples periodically across the flesh, like glitter swirling in water. The woman’s proportions are unnaturally long, ears pointed and curled. The most striking feature are her eyes and hair, both a deep endless black. It makes her gaze rather unnerving as it settles upon them.

When she smiles, Lance sees fangs. “I hope you’ve rested well,” she says in a lilting voice. It sends the hairs on Lance’s arms to stand on end. Keith shifts closer to Lance. 

Hackles raised, Lance demands, “Who are you!?” Just as Keith hollers, “Where are we!?” 

The woman, or creature, Lance isn’t sure anymore, merely smiles. “I understand you might be confused,” Which is an understatement. “but please do not fear me. I wish only the best for the two of you. You have both been through quite the ordeal.” 

“Ordeal?” Keith questions, his voice rough with nerves. Lance allows this new information to sink in. They have no doubt been through something of significance. The lack of memory stems from somewhere. 

“Yes.” She walks more into the room, the door closing behind with a snap. “You may call me Zeyn’la,” she says. “It was by fortune that my people came across you and your ship. From what little I saw, I expect you crash landed; the results were not pleasant.” Zeyn’la motions her hand up the length of Lance’s body. “You in particular were badly damaged. I never realized how fragile Terrans were. It’s not often we see your species. The amount of blood you lost was indeed worrying. For a time I questioned whether you would even make it.” 

Lance eyed his own body, happy to find nothing out of place. “I’m okay?” Some verification of this would be most appreciated. With the lack of memory Lance currently sports, a little reassurance would not be unwelcome. 

“Indeed. You’ve both been in a healing comatose for three moons.” 

“Our ship?” Lance snaps his head to Keith. Their ship? Zeyn’la had implied that they arrived together. It could explain the familiarity Lance felt with Keith. There exact connect still remains a mystery, but even the possibility of a friendly face draws Lance closer to Keith. At this point their shoulders are close to brushing. Lance can feel that familiar heat he had woken to. 

Reyn’la shakes her head, not meeting either of their eyes. “I’m afraid there was little to even salvage. Both of you are very lucky to be alive.” 

“Was anything salvaged?” Keith asks. 

“No.” The response is clipped and direct, followed with the ever calming smile upon Reyn’la’s lips. 

Keith seems still beside Lance, but this does explains a lot. It also cultivates more questions; questions Lance feels unsure whether he should ask. The state of their memories being one of many answers he sought. Before Lance can voice the inquiry, Reyn’la beats him to it. 

“There are still some unfortunate side effects. Both of you were severely concussed. Healing the brain is a delicate matter. Typically you can expect some memory loss. Naturally it will resurface in time, although with Terrans, I cannot be sure. Lance, you might find some things lost forever. Keith, I cannot say.” The word, Terran, pops up once again. The term seems connected to Lance, although the exact meaning remains lost. 

“I might never get my memories back because I’m Terran?” It’s hard to feel grief over something Lance never knew he even had. Lances finds his memories inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. He can’t miss what he never knew. 

“Of Terra, or Earth if you will. I assume that is your birth planet?” Reyn’la questions gently. 

“Uh… Sure?” Lance looks to Keith, not that he would know. “So that makes me and Keith Terran. What does that make you?” 

Reyn’la frowns, brows furrowing. “Yes Lance, that makes you Terran,” she says. “And you are on Shantok, and we are the Shan.” 

So here Lance sits, in a room, on a plant not his own. He sits close to an individual who he cannot remember, but that she should. He sits confused and without any knowledge of who is and what he has gone through. He sits not know if he is truly safe and that if he can trust this Shan woman. Can he trust even Keith?

Lance only knows that he has no other choice but to put his faith in Reyn’la and hope that it does not end in regret. With a weary sigh, Lances resigns himself to an unknown future. He looks to Keith, surprised when he sees bright violet eyes looking right back. He might not know how they connect, but Lance feels a little thrill of excitement at the thought of finding out. 

\---

Three moons pass, the rough equivalent of three Terran days Lance learns. The plant of Shantok turns at a lazy pace, creating long days and even longer nights. Reyn’la provides a surplus of information, revealing the basic details of the land and people, but she has a government to run and time becomes a precious thing. It leaves both Lance and Keith to wander the smooth marble like halls of the castle alone. At least Lance assumes the grade building to be a castle or a luxury estate. Lance has seen one before, perhaps; the memory just too far off to grasp. 

Servants fill the estate’s halls alongside individuals called Asluni. The title belongs to young woman primed for the future role of Chancellor. The Asluni prove to be pleasant company and Lance finds he spends great deals of time laughing with the young girls. The black of the Shan eyes are far less unsettling when they sparkles with the life of laughter. Lance finds the girls alluring and good company, but nothing more than that. A disconnect keeps them at arm’s length; a void neither feels the need to breech. Most often Lance finds himself pulled towards Keith. 

He learns quickly that the boy is quiet and contemplative. That’s not to say Keith doesn’t have a temper. Lance finds he has an impressive knack for firing Keith up. The banter becomes infectious and often light-hearted. Currently they sit in the library arguing over roles they probably never held. Titles both dreamed and imagined, each far more outlandish than the last. 

“Maybe we were, like, space bounty hunters!” 

Keith scoffs, unamused. “I find that hard to believe. Unless you were the idiot criminal I was trying to bring in.” 

“Keyword, trying! How’d that work out for you?” Lance laughs. “Or maybe, I’m a grand warrior and you’re like my page.” 

“In what logical setting would I ever be your underling? You couldn’t even pay me enough to do it.” Keith tosses a chunk of bread at Lance’s head. The bickering continues until the light peals of laughter float over to them. Vaern, one of the older Asluni, is tucked away in the corner of the vast library. Her eyes sparkle with mirth as she watches them. 

“Let me tell you a little secret,” Vaern whispers. “There’s only ever two reasons why a Terran would be outside their cozy little galaxy,” she says. “Either they are taken to be pets by a more advance race or they are taken because of love.” Vaern sighs at this, batting her eyelashes all the while. The innocent girl act sits out of place amongst dark eyes filled with far too much knowing. Lance can’t be sure how to read her. 

“How’s that even a factor here? You think we broke off our leashes and ran for it?” Lance looks doubtful, or perhaps a little put off. He imagined something a little grander than glorified space pet. 

Vaern giggles once more and shakes her head. “If Keith wasn’t Galran, than perhaps.” 

The room fills simultaneously with, “I’m what?” and “Keith’s what?” The words bounce from the walls drowning out the continuous laughter of the Asluni who seems far to amused. 

“Keith is Galran, well half. Otherwise you’d be such a pretty shade of purple. It’s a shame, but it makes sense. Given your Terran blood, I guess it might be a family trait. A Galran with a taste for Terrans. It does explain things.” Vaern’s word become babble at this point, none of which Lance likes the sound of. He can deal with Keith being a different species, even just half. The thing that unsettles Lance is the assumption Vaern jumps to. Lance looks to Keith whose face brightens with a telling blush. 

“You think…” Lance can’t even say it. He wonders how that could ever be a thing. Then he looks, really looks at Keith, and knows that it could happen with such easy if only Lance allowed it. Keith is handsome, he’s funny, and he’s sweet. Lance won’t admit it out loud, but given the chance, he’d allow something to bloom between them. It could be a most beauteous flower. The idea alone sends a thrill down his spine. 

Keith averts his eyes back to Vaern. “Galran?” He says the word like poison. “How would you even---?” 

“I helped tend to your injuries. The initial examination said it all, a nice even split. You probably could access your Galran genes if you practiced enough. Some hybrids have been known to walk amongst their sire’s and their dam’s people. Makes things a lot more interesting in bed too.” She winks at both Lance and Keith. This time Lance feels his own cheeks warm with the heat of a flush. 

They say no more on the subject, far too late to take any of it back. The seeds been planted and the thought rooted. Lance for one can’t stop imagining what it might have been like, to be with Keith in such a way. He thinks about the feel of Keith’s skin, the softness of his stupid hair. How could Lance ever fall for someone with hair like that? It will be something to contemplate as he lays in their room tonight, Keith curled beside him. That should have been the first hint. Lance never felt the need to ask for his own room. There’s comfort in feeling the heat of Keith’s body, too close and too far. They never touch, always a barrier of space between them. Lance thinks, it might be a matter of time before that changes as well. 

\---

He flies through space, the stars, bright and beautiful, as they race pass. The exhilaration drives him forward. This is something great, something he has missed. The stars turn brighter and brighter. Heat seeps from them, baking Lance from where he sits. A shift in the atmosphere turns everything dark. 

It’s suffocating. Everything spins and a horrible sense of déjà vu settles heavy in his stomach. Something hits unforgivingly from all sides. They’re under attack. Lance feels the hit, knows his fate looks grim. The thoughts pile high and Lance can’t make sense within the chaos of the moment. It feels like drowning. 

Pain swells slow but strong through his body. He doesn’t remember why or how. The pain’s just there, a continuous throb. Through the haze, static fizzles into existence: the low buzz of the communicator. Something comes through. It starts faint and builds strength. 

“Lance…” The call of his name moves him. He knows that voice; he reaches for it. 

It calls once more, growing fainter and fainter. “Lance…” 

“Keith” Lance screams. He’s desperate. He’s falling. All he can do is hold on. So he screams for the one person he knows. The only person in this wide universe that Lance has. “Keith!” 

It feels like the end. 

\---

Lance wakes to strong arms on his shoulders. Above him Keith stares down with wide, terror filled eyes. 

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here.” 

It’s like a mantra that Lance doesn’t have the strength to stop. Lance welcomes the sight of Keith, more than anything in that moment. Keith was there when Lance woke, alone and without a memory, and, Lance feels like he will be there till the end. Without thought of consequence, Lance reaches forward and pulls Keith down and into the circle of his arms. 

The dream is nothing more than a passing thought. The specifics lost to the flow of time. Lance allows Keith to consume him. He basks in the other boys arms. “Keith,” he breathes like a prayer. 

“I’m here,” Keith replies once more, a balm to the soul. Lance allows it to drift him back to sleep. It’s there, tucked into bed, on a strange planet that they fall. Together, all at once, within the wings of sleep. 

\---

They don’t talk about that night. Lance doesn’t bring up what his dream might have meant. Keith doesn’t bring up how he never let Lance go until the first signs of morning. They don’t talk about it, but it’s all Lance can think about. 

If anything’s changed, it’s the small touches. Keith’s hand on Lance’s should. A touch lingering a little longer than it should. It’s a comfort that Lance looks forward to. 

Vaern takes notice and does not let it go without comment. She sits with Tirn, one of the few males that occupy the estate. They whisper conspiratorially as Lance and Keith wander into the large dining hall. It’s dinner for the Shan; for Lance and Keith it’s about time for some breakfast. The slow spin of this planet still does not sit well with Lance, not that he remembers any other. 

“Sleep well?” Vaern asks between bites. The smile she gives tells Lance to flee, but he nods and sits. Keith takes the seat adjacent. 

Tirn is watching them closely all the while. He’s never said much to them, but he spends enough time whispering in Vaern’s ear. Lance has yet to conclude if they are little more friendly than proper. He thinks they might be as Tirn lays a familiar hand on Vaern’s bare thigh. 

“There’s a festival tonight.” This perks Lance’s interest. “It’s only one of three we have each cycle. You can’t possibly miss it. All couples go.” 

Lance and Keith blanch in unison. It doesn’t add up, Vaern can’t be implying-- “Couples?” He almost chokes on the world. Keith is suspiciously quiet beside him. 

“It the Festival of Moons. Only once a cycle does the greater moon Graityn cross paths with our lesser moon Traluis. They’re lovers you see, fated to meet only once a cycle. It’s their curse for loving one another more than the sun, Zir. To honor their endless devotion, lovers come to have their bonds blessed by the high priest. If the love is true, the blessing will accept the couple; if not, it will cast a shadow upon them and the light of their love will burn out,” Vaern rambled. “It would shed light on your… relationship.” 

“What do you mean?” Lance asks. 

“She means,” Keith cuts in. “It’ll give insight into the nature of our relationship. Light goes out, it’s platonic… It doesn’t, well…” He trails off with a shrug. He seems altogether unaffected by the thought, leaving Lance less than sure how to translate that. 

Vaern hums her agreement. “It’s a sure fire method. I’ve never known a relationship that’s lasted once a flame burns out, and vice versa.” Her voice lowers and her eyes shift back and forth. It’s the look of someone about to divulge delicate information. Lance and Keith lean in. “I shouldn’t be saying this, but I think you two deserve to know.” Her voice gets lower, and they move all the closer. “You’re completely head over heels for one another.” 

Tirn is laughing in his hand as Lance sputters and Keith sits back with an exasperated sigh. Neither tries to deny her words; Lance too unsure of their actual truth. He sneaks a glance towards Keith. The man is fussily picking through the food he’s piled on his plate, no doubt making an effort to ignore them. There is nothing particular about the site, but it pulls a slight smile across Lance’s lips. The furrow of Keith’s brow, the crinkle of his nose, all of it more endearing than it should be. 

All things considered, Lance can see why he could have fallen for this man. Keith’s looks aside, not that those aren’t top notch, he carries with him a personality that complements Lance’s. Where Lance is loud and brash, Keith matches him with his contemplative and passionate nature. It’s a combination that could breed discourse, yet if cultivated with understanding it could be something great. The thought alone stirs Lance’s interest. 

“You’re staring.” Keith’s words knock Lance from his thoughts and paint his cheeks with a heavy flush. 

Saving face, Lance finds himself stuttering, “I—I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t make eating such a competitive sport. What does a food have to do for you to eat it?” It’s a stupid comeback, Lance knows it, Keith knows it, the whole planet knows it, but it doesn’t stop a snort from leaking past Keith’s lips. 

Keith has been one of the few who bothers laughing at Lance’s lame outbursts. He wonders if there has ever been anyone to find him funny. Is Keith the only one? The thought actually makes Lance’s chest warm. A soft blue fruit the size of Lance’s fist gets pelted at the side of his head. On second thought, he takes back every good thing he’s ever said about Keith. 

Lance aims a kick at Keith’s shin. They bat at one another before Zeyn’la wanders into the dining hall. All horseplay stops and Lance takes note as Keith indulges in his first bite of food, stealing the tidbit from Lance’s plate. Coincidently it’s the same fruit that had pegged Lance in the head moments before. Perhaps that answers everything and nothing at all. 

\---

The purple sky of Shantok is a particularly vivid violet as Lance pass through the massive gates of the estate’s entrance. It’s an odd thought that Lance nor Keith have ever ventured out of the estate’s compound. The surrounding city is bustling with life. The vast amounts of people filing about astonishes Lance. There are a good number of individuals resembling the species Vaern and Zeyn’la are kin to. More so, there are a surplus of creatures of all sizes and types. Some are humanoid and some are more alien than Lance can ever imagine seeing. 

He looks on in awe. Keith takes him by the wrist and pulls Lance along after a moment. It would seem Keith is far less affected by the oddity of such creatures. Perhaps it’s his own alien heritage or not. Lance wonders if some memories have begun to seep through the veil of nothingness. They don’t ever talk about it, even when Lance wakes from the trauma of what could only be his past. 

Lance thinks he might be fine never remembering what came before all this. Not when the future seems so much more tempting in its easy going nature. If Keith stays by his side, then Lance could live with it. 

They push their way past individuals and booths. Vendors shout out their wears amongst the steady stream of chatter. There are languages being used that could never be possible with the vocal cords of a Terran. Lance hears one particular individual yell in what seems like a collection of intricate clicks and whistles. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until the creature turns on him and honks. 

“At least make an effort not to act like a moron.” 

“Hey!” Lance squawks. “That’s uncalled for!” 

“Then don’t make me call you out on it.” Keith steers them from the main path and onto a side street. Lanterns hang from rafters giving a warm glow to the dying evening. The stalls here are less crowed and Lance feels himself unwind. It allows for a closer look at the merchandise, all of which Lance knows he cannot afford. He has nothing by way of currency. Vaern wouldn’t part with any and Lance could not ask Zeyn’la. She has already given them more than enough. 

A man, long since world worn, whittles away at a piece of silver wood. His hands are well accustomed to the action. Lance can barely believe the smoothness in which he works. Finished pieces show a skill far surpassing anything Lance thought possible. A carved rose looks as if the petals would sway in a soft breeze. 

They move on, and Lance’s interest is reborn again and again. Keith stands quietly by. 

It’s around five booths down that Lance has his breath taken away. The booth is modest, its vendor a small furry woman with warm honey eyes that match her silken coat. As adorable as the woman is, she is not what draws in Lance’s attention. Laying, almost far too haphazardly, is a bracelet. It’s simple and perhaps nothing outwardly special, yet the blue of the beads that adorn it are far too vibrant. It catches Lance’s eye and he cannot turn away. The craftsmanship is stunning. Each bead is hand carved with an alternating design—a running lion and then a shining star, as if it were chasing the sparkling light. 

“Something catch your eye?” The woman asks. Lance’s hand is inching towards the trinket before he catches himself and pulls it away. 

Keith is there, looking curiously over Lance’s shoulder as he answers. “You’re very talented,” is all Lance says, keeping things neutral. There was no point in wasting this woman’s time with a penniless customer. With one last smile Lance moves on down the street; he doesn’t bother to see if Keith is following. The other man is never far behind. 

The city is large, all streets flowing into the center of town. There, upon a mound of golden grass, stands a tree. Lance cannot be sure, but he surmises that he has never seen one of such grandeur. Its pearlescent bark shown under the dying sun and brilliant moon; its crimson leaves standing in vast contrast. A variety of individuals strolled around the park like city center. Lance quickly noting that they were all couples. Most held hands, paws, tentacles, or whatever appendage their anatomy afforded them. This was, no doubt, the epicenter of the festival. 

“There.” Lance jumps at the light touch on his lower back. He’s not sure when Keith came up behind him, aware suddenly that he was walking off on his own. Keith’s hand steers him back on course and to the side of the grand tree. Lanterns light the way and they weave into the crowd of couples. It’s only then that Lance notices the tables sprawled with small glowing globes; all large enough to fit comfortably in the palm of a hand. This is what they are looking for. This could be the answer; an answer Lance is less sure he needs. Keith’s hand continues to be a warm heat on Lance’s back, and he finds himself wanting to push back into it. 

“Are we going to let a shiny marble decide whether I want you to kiss me or not?” Lance jokes. 

“I could ask you,” Keith retorts. His hand moves to Lances elbow. The grip is light and then it’s gone. “Do you want me to kiss you, Lance?” 

The jumble of bodies push Lance all the closer to Keith as the line shortens. Their eyes meet, they never waver. Lance knows the answer; knows he does not need this magical trinket to answer this riddle. The realization is thrilling and he feels so sure that this is the start of some romantic reconnection. A fairytale romance, lost loves finding one another again. 

Playing coy, Lance says, “I believe that’s a question for the magical love sphere.” He’s sure more than a couple dirty looks are sent his way for that remark. “Unless you can’t wait to get a piece of this.” 

Keith snorts and leaves Lance lost in the crowd. How he manages to slip away into the shadows is beyond Lance’s frame of knowledge. It might be a Galra thing. It might be a Terran thing that Lance just never got the memo about. As Keith reemerges, Lance decides it’s definitely a Galra thing. 

“We’re supposed to hold it together under the sacred tree. Ask the moons to bless us?” Keith doesn’t sound sure, but Lance thinks it sounds about right. There’s no questioning what tree Keith is referring to. Only one carries that holier than thou aura. 

Lance laughs, and it’s his turn to pull Keith along. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Multiple couples are already clustered beneath the tree. Heads bowed and deep within their thoughts. Lance and Keith just make one more pair, albeit unalike in their goals. These lovers are sure of their labels. Lance is hoping to realize his.

Warmth begins to bloom and tingle against Lance’s palm. If Lance is expecting anything, it’s not the slow spread of heat. Truth be told, he’s slightly shocked that anything is happening at all. Sparks swell and morph. Everything swirls and encompasses Lance in warmth. It settles deep and strong. Lance gasps, pulling away from where he has his hands resting over their small sphere. 

Keith’s eyes are large. He’s breathing heavy, matching Lance breath for breath. No words pass between them for some time. Lance’s mind spins and he reaches to grasp at anything. The connect, which has grown between them every moment since Lance opened his eyes in that strange bed, next to an even stranger man, thrums. He wants to walk closer, press into Keith. Lance waivers and he steps back with a laugh. 

“Are you hot, or is that just me?” Lance never pegged himself for a coward. The time doesn’t feel right, he tells himself. This isn’t the place, not amongst the throng of on lookers. It doesn’t stop the handful of couples getting a little too handsy in the shadows. 

“Definitely not you,” Keith quips and the moment disperses. “Funny little thing though…” The sphere lays innocent in his hand. How can something like this carry so many answers? Or not, Lance thinks. His hand reaches out for it. 

Lance tosses it into the air once, then twice. “Funky love marble with all the answers.”

“Does it?” 

“We’ll find out I guess.” Lance shrugs. Something tells him that them being here at all is an answer in itself. Nimble fingers pass the fiery sphere into his coat pocket. Unbeknownst to them, it will stay there for many days to come. 

\---

Graityn peeks above the horizon, looking large and bright against a dark violet sky. Lance sees the lesser moon Traluis waiting patiently in the west. The stars look so far away, too far. A spark of awareness make Lance feel as if he’s been closer. He’s soared through that sky, amongst those stars. They pull at Lance and the look in Keith’s eyes says he feels the same. 

The festival is at its height, music blaring past the walls of the estate. They spent hours roaming the streets and markets. Lance could not remember the last time he’s enjoyed himself in such a way. Not that he has a long expanse of memories at his disposal. Laying here, sprawling in the grass amongst the pungent flowers of the estate’s garden, looking up at the stars, is by far the highlight. 

“You ever think about before?” Lance whispers. 

Keith stills, head rolling to the side to take in Lance’s profile. “No.” 

“Apparently you do. Why else have we been…” Frantic arms motion to the world around them. 

“About this? Yeah, but everything else just seems… like it’s a mistake. It’s easy here… safe?” There’s an uncertainty to Keith’s tone. Lance wonders just what Keith knows, what he remembers. Pain, fire, war… It flashes hot and burning bright in Lance’s memory. His last moments, Lance assumes, it’s all he has. 

“Do you remember…?” 

Silence stretches and Lance is finally forced to tear his eyes from the stars. In the distance, illuminating Keith’s silhouette, Graityn begins its embrace of Traluis. Keith is looking to the sky, eyes closed in thought. “Flashes, or flashes of feelings. Nothing solid,” Keith mumbles. 

“Do you think we were happy?” Lance isn’t so sure. “Are there people waiting for us? People we’d miss? Were we important?”

“Does it matter?” Keith shoots back. “I’m happy. I’m happy here… with you. That’s what matters.” Keith is looking at Lance now with an intensity. It has Lance sitting up. 

“You are? I mean, why?” It’s almost enough to derail Lance. He wants to push the issue of their memories. It feels important, like there’s something he’s meant to do. That itch is back, burning lightly at the back of his mind. Lance doesn’t bother to push it away. 

Keith is sitting up now, leaning forward, hands clenched in the grass. “Dammit Lance, of course I am. Why the hell would I even bother going to all this trouble? Like a stupid flame is going to dictate how I feel.” 

“Wait!” Lance is overwhelmed. This was escalating to a point past Lance’s means of control. He’s not sure how they blundered into the topic of feelings. Not even sure he grasps where Keith is planning on taking this. “Wait, what are you even saying?” 

A snort bubbles out from Keith and he visibly relaxes. “Idiot, I’m saying I like you. Magical marble or not, I know I feel something for you. I’m not sure if these are old feelings or new ones, but I know I want to pursue them. Although I’m sure I’ll regret it.” The last comment is more to save face than anything. It has Lance smiling. 

“You like me?” Lance asks. 

“You heard me…” 

“You like me.” Lance’s smile gets wider.

Keith is frowning now. “That’s all you have to say?” 

No, but Lance can think of a better use of his mouth to help get the message across. The space between them shifts and disappears altogether. Keith lips are chapped but soft. It’s pleasant with the way that Lance moves his lips and the light pressure of Keith’s reciprocation. Everything is hesitant and new. The kiss is chaste, and it isn’t until Lance gets his hands on Keith that the spark ignites a flame. 

Lance has to admit that it’s awkward. He almost wonders if perhaps they have never done this before, muscle memory and all. Mouths open and teeth clash. Keith’s fingers curl into Lance’s shirt and pull until they are back on the grass. Their bodies are spread out under the night sky, Keith a warm support beneath Lance’s heated body. 

Silently above Gaityn passes by its love, the two moons nothing but celestial observers. Their light shining down in a quiet blessing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got this done a lot quicker than I had anticipated. I was thinking about holding off on posting, but decided against it. 
> 
> Bad news is that I still need to finish the second half. I'll get it done ASAP as well. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this installment!

The giddy feeling does not leave Lance for days. Even then it’s a subtle buzz that courses through Lance, all the way down to his toes. It’s a feeling that makes him grin like an idiot and curl tighter around Keith’s slim frame as they lay in bed during the early hours of the morning. That’s one of the changes Lance enjoys the most; his ability to reach out and touch Keith. He doesn’t need a reason, just the want to do so. 

Just like now as he deposits himself across Keith’s lap. Lance isn’t much for reading. He’s come to this realization after a multitude of trial and error. Or, perhaps, that’s not quite right. Lance enjoys reading, only Reyn’la’s library is sorely lacking in riveting material. It doesn’t help that half the available books are in languages Lance has yet to bring himself to learn. Lance knows English and Spanish, two languages prominent on Terra, and he’s come to find he’s proficient in the long since dead language of Altean. He’s not sure how he became knowledgeable in a language that disappeared around ten thousand years ago, but who is he to question it? 

Keith has his own cornucopia of languages, and has been dedicated to adding Galran to the mix. Must be embarrassing not know your own species language. Lance got hit when he mentioned that. So hence the sudden interest in spending hours upon hours in the library. Keith currently indulges in anything pertain to the Galra. He’s even begun extensive research on the nature of his own DNA, although he’s only been able to cause his hand to tint a very pale lavender. Thankfully Reyn’la has offered her help when she has the time.

All things considered, technically Lance can find better things to do, things ten times more interesting than reading, or trying to read, Galran texts; only those things hold no appeal without Keith tagging along. So Lance finds himself sprawled across Keith’s lap like a lounging kilper. (Tirn has one, the creature nothing but a scaly annoyance.) Keith’s reading about the history of some apparently important galaxy that Lance can’t say the name of. 

“Are you going to read all day?” Lance paws at Keith’s shoulder. He knows he’ll be hit eventually, but that’s half the fun. 

Keith bats him away and flips the page. He’s gotten significantly better at ignoring Lance, a skill that only seems to promote the negative behavior. As if on cue, Lance picks at the fabric covering Keith’s shoulder. Keith’s eyes shift and Lance knows he’s won. 

“You’re like a damn cat. Fine, you have my attention.” The book closes and Lance has all eyes on him. 

“Cat?” Lance parrots. The word seems familiar, his mind reaching into the dark recesses. It conjures up an image of a fluffy thing, pointed ears, four legs, and a long tail. Lance just knows it has a nasty set of claws. 

Keith looks just as confused. He shrugs it off. “Figure of speech?” It answers nothing, but Lance is already focusing on other things. He now has Keith’s undivided attention. There are things to be done with that. 

“Come here.” Lance reaches up to place a light kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth. “There are better things to be doing than reading.” 

“Oh?” Keith raises a delicate brow. “And those would be?” 

“Me.” The smugness is written all over Lance’s face. That is, until Keith sees fit to land Lance’s ass on the floor. “Watch the goods!” 

“I’m not sure what you mean. Nothing of value there.” Lance pouts and Keith helps to haul him up despite his words. It allows Lance to crawl more comfortably and more intimately into Keith’s lap. He crawls right up and into awaiting lips. 

Kissing takes up a large portion of Lance’s waking hours. He’s not complaining; there’s something addicting about Keith’s mouth. He likes the way Keith’s hands run through Lance’s hair, pulls and tugs to direct the kiss to his liking. Keith pours his all into kissing, pressing up and insistent. The warmth of Keith’s tongue slides against Lance’s own and it drives him crazy. It causes everything to fade around him, falling into the happy buzz of sensations and hormones. It can never be said that Lance does not have a healthy sex drive. 

Firm hands find Lance’s hips, gripping tight and pulling him in further. There seems to be some laws of physics Keith feels inclined to test. If he can ever manage to morph Lance’s body to his has yet to be seen. Still, the long length of a warm body beneath Lance is intoxicating. The strong erratic beat of Keith’s heart thrums against Lance’s chest. They move, shift, and Keith chokes on a moan. 

Lance stills, feeling firm pressure against his inner thigh. Keith is breathing hard in Lance’s ear bring no question as to where this might be going. There’s a tug at his hips; it’s subtle but persistent until Lance begins moving. The slow press and slide becomes mindlessly good, but not nearly enough. Their lips meet in a clash of tongue and teeth. The violence of it mirrored by the frantic grind of their hips. Keith’s hands are tight enough to bruise as he pushes Lance to come down harder, rougher than before. 

“L—Lance…” His name floating past Keith’s lips becomes the last straw. Lance brings his mouth to Keith’s neck, sucking and biting; his hands clench at shirt and hair; his hips rutting wildly down into the body below. The knot of arousal tightens to the point of madness. 

Keith is a breathless mess. Hands abandon Lance’s hips to grip harshly at his ass. They squeeze and beg for more and more until both men are reaching the peak. Precariously they hang until one last press of their bodies has them tumbling back down. Lance breathes out in a strangled gasp against Keith’s neck. 

The library comes back into focus, filled with their rapid breaths. Lance is a shaky mesh on top of Keith who is still straining for air. It’s foggy how they ended up like this, sweaty and a cooling mess within their pants. The thought bubbles a laugh from Lance. 

“It’s not funny,” Keith complains. “Plus you’re heavy. Get off me.” 

“I think I just did.” 

There’s a pause. “That’s ‘get me off,’ not the same thing, idiot.” Lance receives a swat at his head as he rolls to the side. He laughs all the while, feeling completely content. The buzz has begun to ebb, leaving behind a pleasant hum and the ever present tickle at the back of his mind. It’s unsettling then, burning away the afterglow. The feeling is intrusive, a voyeur of unwelcomed origin. Only it feels strikingly familiar as it begs for attention. Lance wants to reach for it, feels a hidden part of him reaching for something that once was. Something in vast contrast to what he is now. 

Lance’s mind retracts and he gasps, pushing the tickle back and back till nothing exists but emptiness. Keith’s words from days before float distantly by. “Everything else just seems… like it’s a mistake. It’s easy here… safe—” It’s safe here, to poke at this thing would be a mistake. Those words repeat in tandem. Perhaps if Lance hears them enough, he’ll eventually believe them. Till then, Lance relishes in the feel of Keith’s fingers brushing damp locks from his eyes. It’s almost enough to wash away the odd sense of guilt welling deep within his stomach. 

“You okay,” Keith questions. 

Lance smiles, “I’m fine. You just wore me out.” And life goes on. 

\---

“Keith! Come on, open the door!” Lance has been at this for a good three hours. Two and a half hours too long in his humble opinion. If he wasn’t so distraught over the whole ordeal he might even laugh. “It can’t be that bad!” 

“Fuck you Lance!” 

“That a promise?” Lance quips and immediately regrets it. “Sorry… Not the time.” 

-

Lance wakes to an empty bed that morning. Thinking nothing to be awry he heads to grab some food before getting ready for the day. It takes Keith being absent through three helpings of warmed sugary grains and fruit for Lance to become curious. A random Asluni, who Lance never got the name of, passes by to grab a quick piece of toast. “Have you seen Keith?” he asks her on the off chance. She regards him with those deep endless black eyes of the Shan and shrugs her shoulders. 

“Who?” she says, and walks right back out the way she came. So maybe Lance deserves that. 

Heaving a sigh, he ends his meal prematurely and heads back to their room. It comes to his attention that the door to the ensuite continues to be closed. Frowning, Lance wanders over and gives the door a tentative knock. Nothing sounds from the other side for a moment. Lance knocks again. A shuffle and a curse floats through the heavy wood. 

“Keith?” 

“Leave me alone Lance.” 

“You okay?” Because Lance is pretty sure something is up. Keith isn’t the one to spend obnoxious amounts of time primping himself. That title sadly belongs to Lance. 

Keith says nothing and only prompts more worry to bubble up. The man can’t be hurt, that wouldn’t prompt this display. Had Lance done something? He couldn’t imagine what. 

“Did I do something?” he asks nonetheless. “Was it something I said?” Although the last thing he remembers them talking about is the damn weather, literally. The first storm blew in, frozen rain falling while silver bolts of lightning crashed down. Keith had seemed unsettled, but fell asleep easily enough within Lance’s embrace. 

“No… no…” Keith’s voice is small. “It’s not you…” 

That’s good to know. Although Lance would really like some form of an answer right about now. “Dude, then let me in. I need to pee!” 

“No, use the one down the hall!” And thus began the epic standoff. 

-

“How many times do I need to say this before you get it through your thick skull? Leave me alone!” Keith’s obviously mad, but hell if Lance cares. This has gone way past practical. It’s even testing Lance’s patience. 

“I’m not leaving till you come out!” 

“No!” 

“Yes!” 

“No!” 

Lance throws up his hands. “For the love of…” he trails off and walks around in a few pointless circles. If Keith wasn’t still putting up such a fight, he might think the man was bleeding out on the floor. There is nothing to go on that makes this understandable. Lance can’t wrap his mind around it. He comes back to the door and beats it with his fist. 

“Fuck off!” is the only reply he gets. It tests Lance’s last nerve. He eyes the door and the slim keyhole. Lance sets off on his mission. There has to be something is this overly extravagant room that he can use to pick a lock. Hopefully he was a lock pick before winding up here. Lance nearly laughs when he finds the actually key to the bathroom of all things. It’s sitting innocently in a dish on the dresser. 

Lance dashes back to the door in record time. The key slides home and he hears scrambling coming from behind the door. 

“Lance!” Keith yells. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare open this door!” 

“Or what!?” Lance challenges. He’s obviously not good at following orders. Before Keith can retort, Lance is thrusting the door open and sending Keith sprawling in a purple heap. It takes a moment to make sense out of what Lance sees. 

Keith is sprawled on the floor, stretched out along his side. Head bowed, Lance can’t see his eyes just yet. He is very much aware of the violet tint of the skin on view and the tuff of fur that thickens along Keith’s ears. 

“Keith?” Lance whispers and watches the way Keith stiffens before finally brining his head up. Golden eyes meet Lance’s. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what has happened. “Is this…” 

“What a Galran looks like? Yup…” he says this bitterly, and Lance can’t help but feel sorry for him. He knows that Keith had been curious about his ability to realize this part of his DNA, but probably not in the spontaneous way in which he receives it. 

Finding pity, Lance settles down on the floor. “You’re purple now,” he says and laughs. 

“Shut up.” 

“No, no.” Lance is out right giggling now. He’s now noticed just how adorable Keith’s ears are against the fluff of his hair. Without think he reaches out to stroke one. “You’re so cute.” 

“I’m not… I’m not that… I’m a monster.” The admission seems odd, silencing the two men. Keith looks confused. “What? That’s not… Why’d I say—“ He cuts himself off. 

Lance isn’t sure what to make of it. Not when weeks prior Keith was so hell-bent on accessing this part of himself. The violent reaction is a juxtaposition to all prior knowledge Lance has on the matter. In that moment he does the only thing he can. Without a second thought he scoops Keith up and into his arms. 

“You’re beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with you,” Lance whispers into Keith’s hair. “Whether it’s your pale ass or this purple you, it doesn’t change anything. It won’t ever change how I feel. Nothing can change what I feel for you.” He takes a deep breath. It might not be the best time, but Lance knows Keith needs to hear it. “I love you… you and all your alienness.”

A choked sob leaves Keith and he buries himself further into Lance’s arms. There is no reciprocation to the admission, but Lance expects just as much. He lets Keith unwind in the comfort he may give, and allows the silence to lull them into some sense of peace. 

They spend the rest of the day close at hand. Keith doesn’t mention the moment in the bathroom again. 

\---

He wakes with a start, chest heaving and muscles wound tight. The room around Lance is dark and silent. Only Keith’s quiet breathes filter past the leftover haze of dreams. They are clearer than they have ever been. Lance wonders if he can accurately call them dreams: everything too vivid, too clear. Each dream a memory of a life forsaken. Lance can’t be sure that this life, the one that comes only in the shape of dreams, is the life he wants. 

The dreams are nothing but violence. Lance remembers running. Heavy footfalls echoing through polished metallic halls. Blast of lasers fly past, singeing the ends of his hair. The fear of death isn’t there; the absence more disturbing than the body dropping dead at Lance’s hands. Another and another falls, and still Lance feels nothing. There’s adrenaline, but no fear. He aims his rifle with precision and downs three more before turning a corner. 

Another soldier heads Lance off. He knows it’s only a little further before his destination. The memory gives little insight to the overall situation. There is no context to glean. Nothing to explain what Lance witnesses next. This soldier is different, missing is the helmet that graced the others. There is nothing to obscure the purple tint of skin; the soft tuffs of hair; and the piercing gleam of golden eyes. 

This is a Galra. This is a kin to Keith. Without pause, without remorse, Lance aims and shoots. He runs forward; he does not look back. Lance waits for the guilt, waits for something. It never comes. There is only the hollow echo of something that pulls Lance into the waking world. That echo turns into a bellow that leaves Lance gasping for breath. 

What life had he lived to make him so detached? The flashes he’s been allowed have been nothing worth going back to. It’s all reds and blacks, blood and death. All things considered, it pales in comparison to the true horror. 

What were the Galra to Lance that would allow him to act in such a violent regard? He can never imagine lifting a finger towards Keith with any shred of animosity. To think otherwise causes a twist of sickness to well deep within him. Lance wants to reach out and touch Keith, wrap himself around him and never let go. He reaches but it falls short. In that moment Lance feels dirty, hands stained with imagined blood. 

Suddenly everything seems far too fragile. A world built upon a thin sheet of ice; one wrong move and they would be drowning. Lance wants to hold on tight, wants to push these thoughts away. Only, the guilt builds and builds. 

The ice begins to crack. 

\---

“Much better!” Keith punches his fists, his now very Terran fists, into the air. It causes smiles to spread across both Lance and Reyn’la’s faces. 

“See, I told you that it would be possible. With a little more practice, you should be able to smoothly transition between your two forms.” Reyn’la has spent the better part of the evening helping Keith. It becomes a touch and go process, but after many failed attempts Keith finally has the knack of it. 

There is something close to relief welling up in Lance. He will be the last to say Keith’s appearance dictates Lance’s own feelings, but after a week of dream filled nights, it’s easier to pretend everything is okay. Enemy Galra might not wear Keith’s face, not when Lance closes his eyes and lets his guilt ebb free. 

“I’m going to miss the ears,” Lances says, keeping up a playful pretense. 

It causes Keith to smirk. “I might bring them out if you’re good.” Lance just sticks his tongue out. 

“Ah, but I thought you liked it when I’m naughty.” 

“You might be imagining things.” 

“That’s not what you said last ni—“

“Boys, if we are done here, I have other matters which to attend,” Reyn’la cuts in. She’s still smiling, but Lance notices the strain in it. No doubt being chancellor of an entire planet is demanding. It becomes a rare thing to see her unoccupied with some task or another. 

“Thanks… for all the help…” Keith calls, his voice oddly small. Perhaps he’s unused to saying the words. Lance can’t be sure. 

This causes Reyn’la to pause at the door. She does not look back, but she responds. “Indeed. Anything to help you boys. You are, after all, my honored guests.” And then she is out the door. 

Lance doesn’t pay her any mind; his attention returns promptly to Keith. “You happy now?” He asks. 

“I suppose. I feel more like me… Not sure if purple was my color,” Keith says. He checks over his hand, flexing and watching the tendons move. 

“No, I don’t think it was,” Lance agrees. “Nor do I think pink is your color either.” He pokes at the pink flush across Keith’s cheeks. Truth be told it’s actually adorable. 

“You love it.” Keith really does know him so well. “Out of curiosity, what is my color?” 

“Red,” Lance replies with no hesitation. Images flash in his mind, red and wild and brave. 

Keith seems to startle. He blinks and the smile slips from his face. “I’m not sure—“

“No, it’s definitely red.” Lance leaves no room for argument. “What about me? What’s my color?” 

He knows it before Keith even opens his mouth. He knows it like he knows the color of the sky. He knows it like he knows this topics dangers. “Blue,” Keith breathes out. 

The word hits Lance. “Blue,” he repeats, the word echoing in his mind. As if called, the tickle is back, pushing and pleading. It’s stronger than before, finding strength in some form. Perhaps it’s Lance’s own awareness that feeds it. 

A part of him wants to turn it away. A much larger part, the part that finds life in his unconscious, welcomes the presence. For that is what it is. It’s not a tickle, not a feeling, but a sentient presence asking to be welcomed. This time Lance pushes back and opens himself. 

The feeling of wholeness hits him like a punch. It’s an odd feeling, finding a missing piece, a piece Lance never knew was missing. That piece should be Keith. Keith should make him whole, not some disembodied presence within the dark recesses of Lance’s mind. 

This life is everything Lance knows he wants. He wants this peace. He wants to wake up next to Keith each morning. Yet the more that resurfaces from some forgotten crevice of his mind, the more Lance feels like this is as far away from home as he can get. This is not home, this is not the life he chose. This is not where he is needed. All these feelings flood him, and Lance only wants to clutch tight to Keith, to this sham of a life, but he’s drowning. 

Lance is drowning, and he can only smile at Keith like nothing is amiss. Because if Lance will do anything, it will be soaking in this for as long as he can have it. After all, the ice is breaking and Lance can’t keep his footing forever. 

\---

The ice cracks deep in the silent night, a crack that screams its way through the cool air. Lance startles and lurches from the depths of sleep. The world swirls and spins. Waking so suddenly clouds the sense and Lance cannot grasp the reason for his now alert state. His dreams are peaceful for once; cool waves, warm beaches, and a faceless family that he knows he loves. 

A gasp, a choked call, catches in the silence and Lance spins to see the writhing form of Keith, damp and pale. The sight does not register at first; Keith does not often emulate such an air of defenselessness. To see such vulnerability etched into that usually composed visage unsettles Lance. Keith’s fingers curl tight into the linens, knuckles turning white with the strain. The telltale signs of a night-terror fall like a veil over Keith. His parted lips gasping for much needed air. 

Lance feels lost as to what to do. His hands reach out wanting to comfort. They curl gently over the sweat slick skin. The touch causes Keith to jerk and call out in half formed words. He looks wrecked. It breaks Lance to see him like this; makes him feel powerless in the face of this unseen threat. 

“Keith!” he calls, pleading for some reprieve. Keith seems to still at the sound. The white knuckled grip lessens, long fingers trembling as they release the blanket. “I’m here… You’re okay. I’m here.” The same words float in whispers across the dark room. The thick curtains block out the brightness of the long Shantok day giving the illusion of artificial night. 

“L—Lance,” Keith calls. His eyes are open wide with fear. Lance pitches forward, strong arms curling into him and pulling. Keith’s hands are everywhere. They press urgently into the soft muscles of Lance’s belly, testing the skin with shaky touches. The act only lasts moments before Keith seems content with his findings. Rapid puffs of breath still beat unevenly against Lance’s neck, a telltale sign of the anxiety pumping through Keith’s veins. 

“It’s okay,” Lance assures, knowing he probably can’t be further from the truth. 

Keith does not contradict him. Instead he buries himself deeper into the welcoming embrace. “You’re here. You’re okay.” It’s barely a whisper. Lance wonders if he hears anything at all. 

“I’m here.” 

True realization must hit Keith then. He surges up to clash teeth and lips; the meeting painful in its ferocity. Lance jerks back, but Keith persists. “It’s really you. It was…” he trails off to grace softer, kinder kisses down Lance’s jaw. Again Keith’s fingers press to that same spot of soft fleshy belly. Lance does not question it. He merely gives into the onslaught. The resolve to question Keith dissolves with each tender touch. If these intimate acts give Keith comfort, then Lance cannot bring himself to question the actions. 

It’s not until Keith breathes out, “You’re alive” in naked relief that Lance understands. The knowledge becomes terrifying in what it signifies. He cannot write off the possibility of the actuality of the nightmare’s possible truth. What horrific scene Keith witnessed, Lance cannot say. He only worries that the firsthand account will reach Lances unconsciousness sooner rather than later. How close could he have come to death to bring Keith such an urgent need for reassurance? 

Lance must remind them both of the breath within their lungs, the blood pumping through their veins, and the vitality of their youth. It is without much thought, without much preamble, that they allow the full surrender of their bodies to one another.

It’s slow, hands mapping out each contour and imperfection to commit to memory. Lance surrenders himself to Keith, giving him much needed confirmation. Every sound Lance makes, ever press against Keith’s body, becomes a physical reconfirmation of life. Life flows through Lance and Keith seems to marvel at it. He kisses down the warm expanse of Lance’s neck, shirt removed at some forgotten point. 

Lance suspects he should be nervous. There are no memories, no past experience to fall back on. Still, there is a familiarity within the intimacy. There needs to be no fear here. Lance feels nothing but trust, trust that overwhelms any fear that might bubble forth. He wraps himself securely around Keith, feels every strain of muscle as he moves. At this moment Lance feels the most alive. Heated skin against heated skin, Keith’s heart pumping with strength against Lance’s chest. 

There is no resistance when Keith slips slick fingers into Lance. Everything is pliant and accepting. Lance pushes back into the touch feeling the strain and stretch of his muscles there. It’s an odd feeling, but not unwelcomed. Each sensation mounts into something more, some impending peak in which to fall, until it all plateaus. Lance’s eyes snap open, and he calls out due to the loss. 

“Keith,” Lance pleads. His legs tremble and he yearns for something he has yet to truly experience. Keith shushes him, words that Lance can’t comprehend in his current state. What he does register is a new pressure, something wholly larger than what had pressed into him before. Lance pushes back, wanting this ache within him to ebb. “Keith,” he pleads once more, asking for this want to be reprieved. 

Keith complies, pushing in and filling Lance. It’s all encompassing, the feeling of Keith so intimately joined to Lance. The experience itself becomes something Lance feels the need to cherish. Every steady thrust in and out, every pleasured sound, Lance commits it all to memory. These are the types of memories Lance wants to keep close, to remember in the dead of night. He wants to always revel in the feel of Keith’s skin against his and the pressure of Keith filling him so completely. 

For a feeling so strong, Lance can’t help but to once again feel the inevitable fragility of the moment. So Lance clutches to Keith all the tighter. Legs wrap around a slim waist, nails dig into the tender flesh of Keith’s back. There will be marks on both their bodies come morning. Neither seem to care, it’ll just be further proof of their lives and of their joining. This needs to be real, Lance needs this to be real. This may have started as a means to reaffirm their existence, to fully commit themselves, but Lance needs this to end as a testament to the reality he now clings to. 

It isn’t until Keith calls Lance’s name in completion, that Lance feels some of his apprehensions put to rest as his own pleasure mounts. Perhaps if Lance wills it, if he keeps Keith close, he can keep this happiness he’s found here. No matter what may have been before, there is no reason that their past must affect what they have now. 

They spend the rest of the night basking in the presence of one another. Keith seems calmer, eased from the terror his dream dredged up. Still he does not release Lance from his hold. Lance, on his part, does not pull away. They are sticky with sweat and other body fluids, but neither cares. The effort it would take to clean seems far too exhausting. Lance just wants to fall back into the oblivion of sleep with the comfort of this post coital bliss. 

“Thank you,” Keith whispers. There is no need for it, leaving Lance slightly confused as to its meaning. He opens his mouth to question, but Keith beats him to it. “For being here.” 

Lance wants to say ‘of course,’ to assure Keith that he’ll always be here. Instead, he stays silence. Something tells him Keith knows that Lance would do anything for him. Besides, actions speak louder and all that jazz. Lance gathers Keith up and vows to never let go. 

\---

“Isn’t there anything to do around here?” 

Vaern puts down the document she’s been reading. The look she sends Lance lacks all patience. “Apparently just complaining, which, bravo, you’re doing an excellent job at,” Vaern quips. “Or you could take inventory in the med wing. I’ve been meaning to do it for weeks.” She shrugs her shoulders and goes back to her reading. 

Is that really what everyone does around this place? Lance has said it before and he’ll say it again, reading can be great, but there is more to life. He can’t help it if it’s just not his cup of tea. Speaking of not his fault, Lance can’t be blamed for his current boredom. It’s Keith that went off with Reyn’la to train. Something about perfecting his shifts between forms. Lance doesn’t think it’s needed. It’s no bother to Lance if Keith gets stuck in one form or another for days at a time. Besides, doesn’t Reyn’la have better things to do than to steal Keith? 

“If you sigh one more time, I swear I’ll throw this at you.” Vaern is brandishing the crumb littered plate left over from lunch. 

“I’m not sighing,” Lance says, followed by a heavy exhale. He instantly goes pink. 

“You were saying.” Vaern laughs easily, giving Lance her full attention. “Are you really that lost without your boy-toy around? Or is it more, ‘if you can’t do him then why do anything at all’?” 

Lance could feel the heat piling in his cheeks. “What?!” he sputters. “That’s not… what!?”

“Oh, don’t play coy. I’ve heard the two of you. Just because you’re in bed, doesn’t me the rest of us are sleeping. We don’t all have you’re short lived wake cycles.” She hits him lightly on the head with the plate. It’s playful in nature, but Lance can’t help but feel offended. 

“You have not!” Lance can’t believe they’ve been that loud. Not to mention it’s not like they go at it like rabbits. Since that first night spent together, Lance can count the times they’ve been together on one hand. Or maybe one and a half, it depends on how you look at it. 

Vaern smiles wickedly. “I do recall one particular instance, ‘Keith, oh Keith… please fill me with your big purple cock’ something to that affect.” She was surely not bothering to waste any modesty. 

In Lance’s defense, he could have reacted worst. Falling from his seat with a squawk was rather the more dignified reaction. “You did not! I’ve never… That’s not something… No!” He looks her in the eye. “No!” The worst part of this, Lance can’t be sure those words never left his mouth. Lance isn’t the most articulate or sensible when it comes to sex with Keith. Still, he can’t be that bad with his word choice. 

“Uh huh. Told you being part Galra would make things more interesting in bed.” 

This officially calls for a topic change. “So! What you reading?” Not the smoothest, but Lance hopes it will at least turn the tides of this conversation. 

Vaern looks reluctant to give up her teasing, but relents. “The interplanetary trade agreements of the Yurlain.” 

Lance is almost sorry he asked. “That sounds…” 

“Riveting?” Vaern supplies. 

“Not quite.” Boring was more the word Lance is looking for. Although, it provided something to discuss. Keith really owes him for this. “Why are you even bothering? I’m going to guess we are talking about a completely different planet here. Shouldn’t you just have to worry about Shantok politics?”

“If only! Shantok, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is a melting pot of different cultures. Because of that we have kept close contact with many neighboring and distant planets. Yurlai is only one of about thirty planets we trade with.” Vaern explains. “Being an Asluni means dedicating one’s self to the histories and politics of all these planets. The more informed and educated on the subject, the better chance of succession.”

“How far does your trading reach?” Lance has a hard time wrapping his mind around 30 some odd planets trading in such a way. He can’t quite place why this sits so unnaturally with him, but it does all the same. 

It only takes Vaern a moment to project a number. “About 40 or so lightyears away. Depending on the ship, it can take four or five sun cycles to reach.” 

A thought suddenly strikes Lance. He’s never given it much thought, but he does wonder how far his true home lies. Without thought he asks, “So how far away is earth?” Nothing strikes Lance as odd, until Vaern’s grip slips on the document she holds. 

“What did you say?” The look on her face unsettles Lance. 

He hesitates. “I was just wondering how far away Terra was.” 

“No, that’s not what you said. You didn’t ask about Terra…” She pauses and back tracks. “No you did, but you called it something else… What did you call it?” 

“I don’t know—“ 

“What did you say?!” Lance feels as if he’s made a dire mistake. Never has he seen Vaern so serious. Her usual carefree demeanor is fraught with tension and worry. Something has surely put her on edge. Lance can’t help but to feel this will not end well. 

What had he said? He asked about Terra… No. That’s not the word that he used. “Earth.” The word feels so familiar on his tongue yet so foreign to his ears. 

Realization dawns on Vaern’s face; it’s a rather unflattering look. Lance can see the naked fear, the panic. “You’ve remembered,” she whispers. “How much? What do you know?” Every word is a rushed gasp. It’s only then that Lance sees the truth of her fear. Vaern does not fear for herself; this fear is born into existence for Lance’s sake. 

“Nothing,” Lance lies. 

“Lance. Do not lie to me. Not about this.” Her ebony eyes are endless. They plead for Lance’s truth, for him to understand. “I need to know.” 

It only takes a moment more before Lance gives in. “Nothing much. Just flashes of memory. Nothing that makes sense,” he says, head bowed. 

“And does Keith?” 

Lance shrugs. “A little, I think. He doesn’t like talking about it.” 

Vaern nods. She stays silent, eyes looking off to the distance in thought. “Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone else. Don’t let anyone catch on, don’t let Reyn’la know.” This catches Lance off guard. 

“Why can’t Reyn’la know?” The thought makes little sense to Lance. Reyn’la has been nothing but accommodating and kind since they turned up months ago. 

“Please, just trust me. It’s for your own good.” Lance can only nod. As suddenly as it all started, the tense air evaporates. Vaern’s face softens, but there is still a hardness to her eyes. “You never asked why we trade with so many planets.” 

The statement startles Lance. To go back to the previous conversation like nothing had just occurred throws Lance for a loop. “Uh, no?” 

“We produce one of the most durable metals in the universe… At least that has been discovered yet. It’s an element known to only three known planets, Shantok being one. Altea used to be the main supplier before its destruction, and Rotz is near uninhabitable. Shantok is really the only known supplier.” Vaern informs. 

“That’s cool.” Lance could really care less. He’s not even sure why Vaern’s telling him all of this. 

“In fact we’re expecting a pickup within the month. Usually we ship out, but some of our contacts come to us. There’ll be a Galra cargo ship coming in. Usually they don’t come this early in the year.” With that Vaern stands and begins to gather her things. “The clocks ticking. Best to think quickly.” She winks at him as she exits through one of the parlor’s back doors. 

Lance can’t help but feel that this is the start of something. The presence in his head rubbles like a purr. It might be in agreement to the idea, for surely this encounter was of consequence. Only time can tell. 

\---

Lance finds Keith an hour later. They bump into one another, quite serendipitously, as they round a corner. Keith looks, not surprisingly, completely human. Early that day he’d been sporting some incriminating purple splotches. Vaern took the opportunity to make some ill-humored hickey jokes. All of which Lance chose to ignore, mostly because he knew the real hickeys couldn’t been seen beneath the layers Keith wore. 

“Hey, good lookin’. Come to fall into my arms?” Lance has his arms braced on either side of Keith. It’s not quite an embrace but it’s close enough to emulate one. 

Keith swats the arms away, paying no mind to Lance’s mock hurt. “I’m pretty sure I have better things to do.” There’s no bite to the words, merely idle teasing. 

Lance falls into the flow and moves to walk beside Keith. “Like me?” he innocently asks. 

“Definitely not like you.” Keith seems to realize his mistake just as Lance’s lips curl into an impish smile. 

“That’s not what you said last ni—” Lance cuts off with an ‘oomph.’ Being pushed into a wall by your significant other is not conducive to proper speech, or so Lance is finding. “Hey! That was uncalled for.” 

“You’re uncalled for.” 

Lance has literally nothing to say to that, time to change tactics. “So I’m guessing the lesson went well. You’re looking less like a grape.” The comment earns him an oddly familiar stare, one he’d seen only moments ago on Vaern’s face. It isn’t until he back tracks that he spies the culprit. Grape seems like such a simple word, yet as Lance tries to put a definition to it, he can only think of some fuzzy long lost image. It’s a fruit, round and small. He’s eaten similar fruits recently, but Lance knows he has not seen such a fruit since awaking on Shantok. It’s one thing to be plagued by the memories at night, to have them inserting themselves into everyday life, well, it’s somewhat concerning. Especially after Vaern’s warning. 

“I suppose that’s better than being a plum,” Keith says after a moment. 

Lance knows the word, just like he knew grape. A plum, round like a grape, but closer to the size of an apple. Apples are red, they grow on trees. Usually they are in orchards, growing in the northern regions and cooler climates. Washington is known for their apples? Washington is a state… a president, the first of the United States. It’s a domino effect after that. An avalanche of information floods Lance’s brain. It’s all very basic, the kind of stuff you could read about in books. Nothing personal to Lance, no memories like the ones that assault him at night. This is like a computer rebooting back to factory settings. When everything comes swirling back to the present, to the reality of the situation, Lance can only gasp. He’s leaning into Keith, not sure how he got there to begin with but thankful for it all the same. 

“That was…” Something else? Lance’s head feels about ready to fall to pieces. Keith looks down upon him with worry, but not with surprise. The accusation rolls off his tongue without a second thought to the consequences. “You’ve known!” Oh course Keith has known. It explains his silence; his ever present need to shy away at the topic. There isn’t much of importance to tell in regards to what is remembered. History, basic items, and geography seem the most prominent of the new additions floating around in his mind. Still, some words seem fresher, more insistent. Or no, the tickle is back, that ever present consciousness that is pushing words to the forefront. Words like war, space, freedom, lions, and paladin. Blue floats ever presently to the spotlight like it always has, usually ignored by Lance. Now it practically screams for attention alongside the every present buzz that thrums even and familiar. They twist before becoming one and the same. 

Keith says nothing for a long moment. He watches Lance with careful eyes, standing firm as Lance balances his weight. Breath seems to allude Lance and he continues to gasp as he waits for the room to cease its constant spinning. It's only when Keith speaks that everything seems to come back into perspective. Lance can focus past the buzzing and the nausea churning in his stomach. 

"You shouldn't have pressed this," Keith says. "We're better off without this clogging our minds." 

The words are so reminiscent of Vaern's. Lance wonders if perhaps he's the only one who has been left in the dark. The auspicious nature of the topic is filled with naught by foreboding and taboo. He wonders if perhaps Keith is right. They might be better off not pushing this. Still, Lance can't help but wonder what he is missing. This is the point where he can tread lightly across the ice, avoiding the cracks and possibly make it safely to shore, or Lance can forcefully pick at the cracks and plunge head first into the frigid unknown. It's the look in Keith's eyes that forces Lance's hand. The desperation there tells of unsaid horrors. Perhaps Lance should not be so hasty to concoct his own nightmare; he's had more than his fair share. They can rightly stay nightmares and not the products of a self-made reality. 

Lance forces a smile on his face. "What's in the past can stay in the past," he says with the little nonchalance that he can muster. It seems to appease Keith at the very least. Keith smiles just as forced, but he makes no further comment on the issue. It's a silent agreement to keep it at that. 

"I hear they're making Kimpki in the kitchens tonight for dinner," Keith says in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood. It works. Lance loves the rich dish. He now knows it to resemble risotto, although no memory leads him to believe he ever sampled the dish on earth. Still, it’s an odd feeling to know something so surely and not be able to ascertain the reasoning behind it. It'll be a feeling that will take some getting used to. 

As they walk off into the deeper parts of the manor, one feeling continues to cling tightly to Lance. The presence encompasses him with a blue essence that neither wanes nor strengthens. It's merely there, asking, hoping, pushing for something that Lance cannot yet fathom. He tries his best to ignore it.

\---

It's a week later, Shantok standards, and Lance feels as if he has put the happenings of last week behind him. At least enough to occupy himself with more important issues, such as finding Keith's stupid ass. The man had bolted from their room after a teasing peck on the lips and a smug, "catch me if you can". It isn't often Lance is blessed with this playful side of Keith and he'd be surely smite down, by which ever goddess it was that the Shan's prayed to, if he took this opportunity for granted. 

He skids to a halt past the medical wing. It's not an area he's overly familiar with, but there is something that he could pilfer from one of the cabinets. Without a second thought, Lance waltz in like he owns the place, right down until he runs smack-dab into Vaern. She eyes him and smiles widely. 

"Third cabinet on the right, second shelf," she says. 

Lance blinks once, then twice. "How'd you..." Best not to ask questions when the answers are the last thing he'll want to hear. His mouth shuts with a quick snap. 

Vaern laughs and leans casually against the opposite wall. “I’ll be sure to count one less in the inventory report.” She looks at him with far too much fondness. It's off-putting in a way. The woman exudes nothing by wit and sarcasm, to have such attention being placed upon Lance feels odd. "I'm going to miss you two when you're gone," she says. 

It throws Lance off and he pauses in his reach for the clear glass jar. "We're not going anywhere?" He phrases it as a question, quite unintentionally he tries to tell himself. 

"You don't belong here." Normally such a statement would be of harsh or bitter origin, instead it's just sad and resigned. "You never did." Vaern sighs and smiles sadly. 

"I'm not sure what you mean..." Lance’s voice is weak and timid.

"Just get your lube," Vaern laughs, familiar smugness planted firmly on her face. "And the East Wing, nobody ever goes down that way. Fifth door on the left... Have fun." She toss something at Lance which he catches in his freehand. 

Lance looks down at the small silver key and just nods as he makes his way out the door. He stands in the hall wondering far too many things. What did Vaern mean? What did she wish to accomplish? And the haunting whisper of her parting words that Lance is sure were not intended for him to hear. 

"Please forgive me..." 

\---

Lance finds Keith slinking around the atrium. There is a moment when he can only peak around the corner and watch him. He's standing in the light of the setting sun, the glow almost ethereal. It takes Lance's breath away. How could he be so lucky as to have gained this man's affection? Not only once, but apparently twice. It's wholly unthinkable. Lance must have racked up the positive karma in a past life. 

With his heart not being able to take more of the sight, Lance sneaks with the skill of a panther towards his prey. He rushes forward at the last moment with a, "tag, you're it," before taking off again. Lance spares only a moment to ascertain if Keith is truly following. Sure enough he's close behind and catching up quickly. Far too quickly for Lance's comfort. Dozens of feet still separate Lance and the east wing. It's one of the few parts of the manor Reyn'la never bothered to show them. Apparently it only housed political meetings that were far below both Lance's and Keith's paygrade. 

They round a corner, footsteps echoing off walls as they go. There's no way the entire manor isn't aware of their chase. Lance remains surprised they have yet to be scolded. As they reach the beginning of the east wing, he becomes grateful for the scarcity and seclusion of the place. Lance barely makes it to the alcove of the designated doorway. Keith comes quickly from behind, pushes and manhandles Lance until he's against the wall. He's only a hairsbreadth from the door. 

Lance only spares a moment to consider the door, more ornate than most within the manor. At the moment Keith's mouth on his own seems far too pressing. Still, they need to get out of the hallway. Lance isn't willing to trust Vaern completely. There can be no telling when someone might find the need to stroll down the hall. Voyeurism has never been on Lance's to-do list, than much he can be sure of. He reaches blindly for the door, hoping to grab the handle on his first attempt. It's the smooth wood of the door his fingertips brush and the world stops. The blue pulses within Lance's mind; it's a scream that becomes close to blinding. His head snaps to take in the door. A knot begins to twist deep in Lance’s gut, a pull he can’t possibly hope to resist. It brings all attention away from the delight and pleasure Keith offered just moments before. 

Keith looks worried. "Lance!" he's yelling, trying to catch Lance's attention. It's in vain, Lance has already lost himself to the thrall awaiting behind the door. It calls and he knows he must answer it. He throws a hand into the pocket of his coat. It brushes the smooth surface of the orb, long since forgotten from the festival, and then moves to the slim coldness of the key. Lance shoves it into the keyhole with shaking hands. The door opens with little effort to reveal not a room, but winding steps. It looks more reminiscent of a dungeon than anything else. 

"I don't think we should be going down there. You look ready to pass out." Keith says, the last part almost an afterthought. Still he seems ready to follow Lance regardless. The first few steps are stumbled down, but Keith, true to himself, catches him each time. Lights spark to life as they walk to reveal more and more of the path ahead. It isn't until they reach another door that Lance feels any sense of foreboding. Blue calls loud and pleading, and Lance knows he will find her, the truth behind this presence that has haunted him. As his hand reaches out, Lance can feel himself kicking at the cracks in the ice all caution blown to the wind. The nob turns and the ice shatters. Keith hand falls from Lance's shoulders. Lance takes in the monstrous sight of two metallic lions. If Lance thought he was drowning before, it's nothing compared to the suffocating grip of what he is walking into. 

Lance walks, steps purposeful to the blue lion. He can feel the pull, the purr of this sentient beast. He’s still unsure of the nature of what this could me. Keith’s hand shoots out once more to grab Lance by the wrist. His eyes are trained on the red lion. Never before has Lance seen such a look of terrified anticipation on Keith’s face. He looks as torn as Lance feels. This is it. This is the end to what life they have here. There is no going back. The thought pauses Lance, has him pushing back into Keith. 

It only a moment of hesitation. Lance wants nothing more than to turn away and pretend this never happened. He takes a step back and is faced with a deafening roar. His mind vibrates with it, a force that brings him to his knees. 

“Lance!” Keith calls, oblivious to the noise. 

Lance grapples at anything to cement him. Hands sweep upon the stone floor until the brush the smooth cool metal of the blue lions paw. The roar continues to drown out the world around him. Even Keith's worried pleas fall on deaf ears. It's only when Keith's face comes to hover close to Lance's own that he realizes that it's his scream that echoes through the vast room. A fire burns bright and vivid, consuming all that is Lance. It peaks and then, finally, ebbs into a cool thrum. What remains is a clarity that has been lost to Lance for months. 

Memories so clear and real surge forth and suffocate Lance. He remembers earth, his family, and the school. He remembers space, the war, and Voltron. He remembers Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, Allura, Coran, and… Keith. Lance’s body stiffens and looks hesitantly to the side. The look of worry and deep concern looks so alien on Keith’s face. The memories he has paints this boy in such a different light. It’s a vast contrast to what Keith has been in the past months. Lance cannot reconcile the two. 

"Well shit," is all he can say. "Fucking shit." 

Keith reaches out to Lance, hands too tender, too loving. The reaction is instantaneous, Lance pushes out and extracts himself from Keith’s hold. Hurt crosses Keith’s face. It tears at a part of Lance that seems to foreign now. Two parts of one whole. Keith goes to touch Lance once more. “Lance… please---“ 

“Don’t touch me!” Lance pushes with more force, causing Keith to trip over his own feet. It’s by luck, or disastrous fate, that he catches himself on the paw of Red. Lance isn’t surprised when the contact causes Keith to sink to his knees with a scream. There’s guilt rolling uncomfortably within Lance, but he pushes it aside. Now is not the time. 

"You really shouldn't be down here." 

Lance jumps, twisting to see Reyn'la coming down the stairs, Vaern close behind. 

"What have you done?" It's Keith who finally speaks up, staggering up from his place on the ground. His face is ashen, and Lance must surely look the same. 

"What is right!" Reyn'la states with all the authority of a leader. 

"How is stealing our lions and... Bleaching our fucking heads right? That's down right violating!" Lance's wrath is welling deep and hot within him. This is the woman who tore everything away from him and gave him false hope for a false life. The moment he touched blue, every memory burst into existence like a twisted fireworks display. Lance feels like two people trying to make concessions within one. He knows what is real, who he must be, yet Lance cannot write off the memories of the month spent in now realized captivity. They are as sickeningly real as all the rest. Now might not be the time to come to terms with what it all might mean, but damn if it's not hard to push back from the forefront of his mind. Regardless, he can't bring himself to look at Keith. 

"Because to do otherwise would be asking for destruction. With Voltron you bring war and with war you will bring the destruction of countless planets." Reyn'la's words are eerily calm. "Just as it did in the wars of the past. Shantok is a visible example of the chaos you'll rain down upon us. We took countless refugees, families fleeing from planets that burned out of existence. Burned by Voltron's hand. It will be no different this time around. I did what I did for my people."

"You still had no right..." Vaern speaks up. "What they do is for the greater good." 

"Greater good?" Reyn'la scoffs. "Tell that to the Galra who will burn this universe to the ground if only to destroy Voltron's memory." 

Lance sees Keith stiffen from the corner of his eye. "You'd rather let the Galra enslave planets? They will forever take advantage of what they can leech from you, or until you have nothing left to given. Then what? Will they still allow you to live in such a way when your precious metal is no more?" Lance roars, spurred on by Blue's reassurance. He can't deny how good it feels to have her back with him. 

"Not if we were to trade your lions for our freedom."

"You'd... What?" Suddenly Vaern's words made sense. Of course. The Galra would be collecting a shipment, not just of metal but their lions as well. "You knew!?" This time his bite is focused on Vaern. 

"I did, and I deserve nothing but your anger. Still, I had hoped that if anything, you might could have stayed happy with us. Unfortunately I realized you are needed elsewhere." Her words are nothing by sincere, though not enough to garner any sympathy. 

Keith's eyes harden. "It was never your decision to make. You have no idea what this might have caused." What this did cause, Lance thinks silently to himself. He knows Keith must be thinking something similar. The man, too, has yet to acknowledge Lance in anyway. 

"No, it was not. Because of that, it will not be our decision as to what you decide from this point on," Vaern continues. 

Reyn'la looks ready to argue. "You haven't the authority to--"

"No, but nor will you if this ever leaks to the public. Voltron is seen as a keeper of the peace by the people. They would not take this lightly." 

"Are you threatening me?" 

"Of course." Vaern smiles. Lance might be pissed at her, but he wants to high-five her at that moment. With Reyn'la handled, she turns and focuses her full attention to Lance and Keith. "You two still have a choice. We will continue to welcome you here if you so choose. I can even offer to once again erase all memories of Voltron and your time as Paladins. You two can continue to live here in peace with one another. It would be easy, just give into what you know would be happiness."

It scares Lance how much he wants to take that offer. How simple would it be to fall back into the bliss that he had with Keith? Keith who he lo-- Lance's stomach turns and he can't complete the thought. 

"Or you can go. Your lions have been repaired and then some. It was our metal that made them in the first place so we took the liberty of reinforcing it. Take them and save us if you can." It's clear which offer Vaern suspects they'll take. She's already angling herself in front of Reyn'la. Lance knows who will be taking up the mantle of Chancellor sooner rather than later. 

"It's not much of a choice," Lance says. 

"It's what we have to do," Keith adds. 

Vaern nods, but it's Reyn'la that has the last words. "Be warned. You'll have blood on your hands one way or another. Are you prepared to stain your hands with the blood of innocents? Of children? Of Families? You will destroy worlds before the war is done and you will not walk away the same person who leaves here today." 

Lance says nothing. He turns his back and walks away grasping to the fleeting hope that Reyn'la's words will never reign true. What naive hope this must be, yet Lance clings to it for the sake of his sanity. He clings to it as he's welcomed back into Blue. He clings to it as he reacquaints himself to the controls. He clings to it as he's once again rising up into the now darkening sky. 

It's only as star speckled space engulfs him that Lance exhales and lets go. 

\---

Blue's locator signal blinks interminably as Lance's casts his position out into the stars. He can only hope that they'll receive a reply. There can be no doubt that the others are searching for them, but the universe is large. The castle could be anywhere. 

"Excited to go home?” Lance calls over the video feed. Keith's reply doesn't come swiftly. This will mark the first time they've talked since the whammy of de-bleached brain took its toll. Lance just can't take this silence. There's just no rule book or guidelines for this type of situation. Keith is Keith: infuriating, hardheaded, and the bane of Lance's existence. That's all, or that should be all. Lance's hands absently toy with the jar of lube still nestled, forgotten, in his pocket. Just the idea of what it had been for bring a warm blush to Lance's cheeks and a churning to his stomach. 

"Yeah," comes a stiff reply to a question Lance already forgets the nature of. He says nothing in return, just swallows and pretends that he does not know what Keith taste like, what he sounds like consumed with pleasure, or what it feels like to be so intimately connected together. 

Instead Lance waits and ignores everything warring to consume him. If he pretends it no longer exists, that it never happened, then it will go away. Solid logic, an infallible plan. Lance smiles to himself and hums some earth song he's long since forgotten the name of. He's on the tenth rendition when Pidge's voice booms through the speakers. It’s almost shocking how little time has gone by. 

"You live! Tell me you live!" she rattles off. 

"We live," Lance replies and for the first time everything seems like it might be alright. It's too bad Lance is only far too practiced at deluding himself. Nothing will ever be quite right again, there is no mending shattered ice. It will be up to Lance to fight his way to the surface, lest he freeze within a purgatory of his own making. 

Only time can tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the angst. Sorry to leave this here! 
> 
> Also, wanted to say that I would assume Pidge and Hunk would have made some advice to amplify their radio wave reach and had it going 24/7 looking for Lance and Keith. Since the lions were shut down and placed in an underground bunker, it made it hard to locate them. Reyn'la would make sure of it. Hence why it took Lance initiating his locator before Pidge got the signal. Or that's my BS reasoning! 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll have the final parts up in no time! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a while. Because of this, I decided that this portion of the fic would work better as an interlude instead of slapped on the start of Part Three. This chapter will highlight what happened to lead both Lance and Keith to winding up on the planet and losing their memories. So this is essentially a flashback chapter, but a very important one. A lot of what happens here helps to shape and rationalize a lot of what we will be seeing from Lance and Keith next chapter. 
> 
> Also keep in mind this is from Lance's point of view. Don't think too harshly on Keith. He'll get a chance to explain himself and what he was thinking during this whole scenario. 
> 
> Lastly, I hope you enjoy!

_\- Months Prior -_

The days had been relatively uneventful for longer than Lance preferred. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed the down time. Lance just hated the monotony that occurred during these periods of calm, and he was sure not to waste the time running mundane maintenance tasks. That was Coran’s job. 

There was something to be said when Lance sought out sparing matches over lazing around the common area. Keith might have a different opinion over Lance’s frequency battling it out with the gladiators. They might have grown closer, into something Lance would compare to a reluctant friendship, but it was nothing resembling the affectionate familiarity he held with the others. There was still a hostility between them than Lance couldn’t seem to breech.

Lance took down a gladiator, sniping it from over Keith’s shoulder. The routine became second nature: shoot, dodge, block, and shoot again. Seamlessly they weaved past one another; Lance had to admit that their teamwork rivaled that of any pairing Allura could come up with. It’s about the only thing that works for them. Lance decided long ago not to question it. 

“Lance, 3 o’clock!” Keith yelled. 

Lance turned in time to place a well-aimed shot to the last gladiator’s head. The simulation ended and both boys sagged, heavy breaths puffing from between chapped lips. 

“Not… not bad.” 

Lance shrugged a sore shoulder. He didn’t have the breath in him for a verbal reply. A part of him wondered if there was a dig hidden within that comment, but decided he’s too tired to argue. Lance was too tired to do much of anything. They had made it to level 9, a feat that was impressive to say the least. So of course, fate would be a bitch. The alarms blared without warning, startling a yelp from Lance. Keith, of course, just straightened like he was waiting for the damn thing. 

Luckily, they are both dressed in their gear, it gave Lance some time to collect himself. Keith was already making his way to the door. “Get a move on it!” Lance didn’t need to be told twice. He’s up and heading out without a glance back. 

-

Allura’s face spoke a million words. The paleness seeping into her cheeks made her look oddly chalky. She was pacing along the control panel; both Coran and Pidge typing behind her, hands dancing over keys quicker than Lance could catch. 

Shiro greeted them, face solemn. “There’s been a breech.” 

That had not been what Lance expected. Nor did it give much insight as to the situation. Lance looked around, eyes wide and piercing. Were there invaders within the castle? If so, then why were they merely standing around. 

“Where are they now?” Keith asked, following Lance’s train of thought. 

Allura answered, voice strained. “That’s just it. They aren’t here. Whatever their goal was, it included them getting in and out quickly. Far too quickly for us to pinpoint until they were long gone.”

“Maybe they realized it was the wrong ship?” The comment earned Lance a few too many unimpressed looks. At least he was trying to lighten the mood. 

“We’re never that lucky,” Pidge quipped. “They took something, and as soon as I find out what…” 

“Do we have video?” Keith added. 

“No… well yes, we do have surveillance, but the majority of the cameras in the west sector are still waiting to be reprogramed after the attack on Lorkin.” Lance paled at Coran’s words. It had to be the west sector. The same sector he had been given to repair. The same sector he had gotten halfway done with and decided the cameras could wait. When would they really come in handy? Apparently right this fucking moment. Well that was par for the course. 

“Wait,” Keith said. And here it came. Lance could already imagine the dots connecting within Keith’s head. “Wasn’t that your sector?” All eyes fell to Lance. 

“I hadn’t gotten a chance to get to them.” 

“Lance! It’s been a month!” 

“I thought you finished repairs last week?” For once Lance didn’t need the extra help from Hunk. 

“Almost all of them…” Nice Lance, you aren’t winning yourself any favors here. He tried not to look too incriminating. It was hard with both Shiro and Allura giving him that parental look of disappointment. The real kicker was Coran’s frown. 

“’Almost all’ isn’t all of them Lanc—” Pidge interrupted Allura with a triumphant yell, drawing her attention away from Lance momentarily. 

Pidge’s fingers danced across the screen in front of her. “There’s been unauthorized access to a rather secluded file in the main frame. It’s highly encrypted, and not easy to find… but it’s been broken… shattered really.” 

Allura rushed over. It took only a moment, but Lance could already tell the news would not be good. Her eyes widen as she looked towards Coran. “They’ve taken father’s notes.” There was a pregnant pause, the paladins at a loss and the Alteans quiet in their disbelief. 

“I’m guessing that’s not good.” Pidge broke the silence, her voice a catalyst to pull the gears back into working order. Allura startled and quickened to action. Her fingers flew across the display, eyeing the text Lance was just now beginning to find familiar. 

Coran had booted up a secondary program on an adjacent screen. It looked to be video files, those that fed in from all surveillance cameras. The welling guilt within Lance hoped that they would have something, some clue to help this issue along. He could not stand to know that this, whatever this may be, might be his sole fault. 

“They’ve taken the schematics… even the chemical and biological break downs. Everything, they took everything…” Allura looked on with wide eyes and slacked jaw. “’Not good,’ would be inaccurate. They’ve taken my father’s life’s work. They’ve taken the secrets of Voltron itself,” she answered at last, gaze focused upon Pidge. 

Pidge swallowed. “Who would…”

“Zarkon?” Lance asked. 

Shiro shook his head. “Zarkon was there at Voltron’s conception. Why would he need information that he already knows?” 

“That’s not necessarily true,” Coran said. “King Alfor shared only what needed to be shared. Zarkon would know the mechanics only to the extent of the physical materials. There are more abstract methods that he would not have been aware of.” 

“So he…, what? Wants to create his own version of Voltron? Is that even possible?” Lance couldn’t imagine a situation where a Galran Voltron existed. “Theoretically, wouldn’t he have figured all this out within ten thousand years?” It seemed logical. To think that the Galra had not found a way to advance past the capabilities of Voltron was rather ignorant. In comparison, the human raced had made advancements in leaps and bound within the span of a thousand years, let alone ten thousand. 

“Well…” Pidge started but was quickly drowned out by Coran. 

“To an extent he has. I’m sure you’ve noticed the durability of the monsters Zarkon has sent our way. There are very few substances that can hold up against the continued ferocity of the lions. I have little doubt that Zarkon has been utilizing zinick in his creations,” Coran explained. 

“Zinick?” 

Coran nodded towards Pidge. “Yes, it’s what your lions were made from. A very rare material found on only a handful of planets. Even less now, I’d wager.” 

“So Zarkon can make his own version of Voltron.” It became the only reasonable conclusion to make. Lance looked from Coran to Allura, hoping for some confirmation. If this were the case then he could not understand all the fuss. Yes, it was unsettling that the journal was stolen, but it didn’t seem to be too detrimental to their cause. 

It was Allura who spoke next, face stern as she gazed upon Lance. He got the distinct feeling she wasn’t overly pleased with him. “Zinick is only one piece of what gives Voltron it’s strength, and it’s far from the key component. Voltron’s true strength lies within its sentient nature. The way they think, feel, and bind their paladins together. Without that, Voltron is like any other machine. Zarkon has yet to replicate that. He might be able to bind souls to his monstrous creations through druid magic, but they will never have their own consciousness. They cannot!” Resolution emanated within her voice. This was an outcome she would not stand for. 

“I’m guessing the secret to Voltron’s sentience was within these journals?” Shiro asked. 

Lance didn’t need to hear the confirmation, he already knew. They could never have a break. He tried to bury the insistent itch of guilt welling within his stomach. It sat there like a coiled serpent ready to strike. It was unfortunate that this serpent had a name and an unsightly mullet. 

“This is your fault! If you’d just done what you were supposed to… Why is that so hard?!” Keith was fierce in all things, but rarely was he ever intentionally cruel. The bite behind his words made Lance fall back into himself. Yes, he had fucked up. Everyone in the room knew that. What purpose did further hammering of the notion hold? 

Hackles raised, Lance turned to defend himself. “It wasn’t my intention…” 

“Of course not, but that doesn’t change anything. You fucked up, admit it.” 

“Yes, Keith, I did. Happy? I fucked up and now everything has gone to shit.” 

“Language,” Shiro called, eyes darting towards Lance.

“Language!” Lance threw his hands up. “I’m getting yelled at for language? Typical. Does anyone even care what comes out of Keith’s mouth or are you all too focused on calling me out?” 

“Don’t turn this on us.” 

Lance couldn’t believe this. He looked around for a single individual to come to his aid. Pidge and Hunk had gone back to scanning the cameras and data in hopes of finding some clue to follow. Coran was overseeing the whole process. Allura joined Shiro as they shook their heads and oozed their disappointment. Needless to say, it left Lance feeling sticky. 

Lance turned back to Keith. He wanted to say more, argue the point until he had gained back the respect that slipped so easily through his fingers. Instead he shrunk into himself. Pulled away from the group, from the disproval. Keith’s glare hung with him, even within the small nook of the control room he retreated to. 

Everything fell into a silent hum, broken only as Pidge muttered one thing or another. It left Lance to stew in the dark pit of his mind. He hoped, oh did he hope, that something would be found to fix this. Little good would come if Lance had to bear the burden of this error. 

“There!” Pidge was tapping franticly. “So we don’t have a visual on the culprit, but I do have a shot of the ship they used.” 

“How’d we miss that too?” 

“Looks like they’re using a similar cloaking mechanism to what I installed in Green. Not so tough to pick out if you know what you’re looking for. Just scan for its particular molecular disturbance, and voilà!” An image was projected, large and bold, for all to see. It was of a small ship, not one Lance could pinpoint seeing before. Still, it looked oddly specific in its design. 

This seemed to perk Coran up a bit. His eyes shown with interest. “That’s a Dirbik ship!” 

“A what?” Keith asked. 

“A Dirbik, my boy. Fascinating race, similar to the Alteans… Only a little bit scalier. Still, we shared a very similar chameleon like ability. Unfortunately, theirs included a bit of an upgrade. We never did get the hang of invisibility. Made the Dirbik highly sought after, prided themselves in stealth, thievery, and assassination.” Coran smiled. “The Galra must be getting desperate if they are calling in favors from other species.” 

“So, the cameras wouldn’t have picked them up. Them not working is a moot point?” The hope in Lance’s voice was far more apparent than he would have liked. He could glimpse the light at the end of this dark tunnel, he just hoped he’d be able to grasp it. 

Keith had the audacity to sneer. “No, the cameras wouldn’t but the inferred sure would have picked up something.” 

Enough. Lance had had enough. “What’s your damage Keith? What have I done to deserve this? Because I’d really like to know.” 

“How about you act like you actually give a shit about any of this? I’m sick and tired of you treating this like a game. There are lives on the line and you’re just sitting back doing the bare minimum. Half the crap that goes wrong around here can be tracked back to you, Lance. Just grow up!” Keith was breathing hard, hands clenched at his side. He wasn’t meeting Lance’s eyes, instead glaring down towards the floor. Lance couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly how he felt in that moment. Numb might be a good place to start. His mind buzzed and everything seemed a little out of focus. The words stung, but did not come close to the burn of the truth that ate away at him. 

Swallowing thickly, Lance forced a smile on his face. “Right, I get it. Silly Lance never taking things seriously. My bad. I’ll just… uh…” Lance looked toward the door, towards his escape. “I can see I’m not needed here. I’ll just think over what I’ve done and my incompetence.” The last part was strained. He made a point not to look at anyone and left. 

A call of, “Lance, buddy…” floated from Hunk but did little to halt Lance’s pace. It was the cracking call of, “Lance” from Keith that forced Lance to slow. There was something within the call of his name that Lance couldn’t define. If he was being truthful, Lance didn’t even want to know. The last thing he cared about was what Keith thought, or his delicate sensibilities. 

“I heard you loud and clear Keith. Just leave me alone.” Lance left the control room hauntingly silent. 

\---

“Paladins to your lions!” Allura’s voice called through the speakers. The sirens blared a second later. It took all Lance had not to ignore the call out of pure bitterness. He had yet to conclude who he was mad at. So far, he was leaning quite heavily onto himself. He dressed and hurried towards Blue’s hanger. She was a saving grace, filling him with her special brand of approval and love. Blue always understood him, giving him the strength to overcome something as convoluted as his own mental downfalls. 

Lance gave her his first real smile of the day. “Hey, girl.” He patted her console. The cool metal seemed to ease the heat of his anger. Yes, this made things better. Everything would be okay. That illusion held true until Shiro popped up on the video feed. 

“We’ve been able to track down the Dirbik thanks to Pidge. It seems they’ve docked on a nearby Galran command ship. Our goal is to provide cover for pidge who will infiltrate the ship and wipe the files,” Shiro said. 

“We just need to hope they haven’t transmitted the information out. We’re screwed if that happens,” Pidge added over the comms. “I just need to access and exterior port and connect to the mainframe from there. Just keep me covered and this should be easy.” 

‘Should’ being the key term. Somehow is never turned out that way. Lance knew this would be no exception. His fears speaking truth only moments after launching into the quiet expanse of space. It was apparent that the Galra expected them. Pidge didn’t get within a hundred feet before they all began receiving heavy fire. 

“They’re expecting us,” said Keith. 

“No shit,” Lance bit back. 

There were dozens of smaller fighters zipping around them all. Each blast Blue took shook Lance and pushed him further from the others. “They’re trying to split us up,” he yelled, taking out one fighter that passed. The situation was quickly making Voltron an impossible goal. There was no hope of combining from their current distances. 

“Guys, this isn’t looking good. I’m surrounded.” 

“Yeah Hunk, I think we get that.” Pidge sounded winded. Lance couldn’t blame her. It had been far too long since they had faced a Galran ship with this much artillery power. Not since Lorkin, and that had ended badly for them. Blue had needed extensive repairs, and the castle was still in disrepair in several ways. The cameras notwithstanding. 

Another hit blasted Lance on his left flank. “Shiro,” he called. “Any brilliant ideas?” They needed one right about now. 

“If we can…” Static met Lance’s ear as he watched Shiro take heavy fire directly from the command ship itself. This wasn’t good, this really wasn’t good. Lance watched as his friends took hit after hit. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. They’ve been fighting for well over a year, maybe two. All that time and improvement seemed meaningless when it mattered the most. 

Lance spun in a tight spiral through the throng of fighters. If they couldn’t pick off the soldiers, then go for the head of the beast itself. He aimed his ice canon at the ion blaster perched menacingly atop the ship. Once frozen he followed it up with an energy blast that shattered the canon, each piece floating within the expanse of space. 

“Nice one!” Keith said. Lance pretended he didn’t feel just a little bit validated by that. 

The excitement was short lived; it always was. Allura broke the moment of celebration, voice urgent and severe. “Paladins, focus all your fire on the ship!” she yelled. “It’s making a jump!” 

Sure enough, Lance watched as space began to shiver and distort in the distance. Stars began to swirl in the telltale signs of a wormhole. There were no doubt druids on this ship; the thought not sitting well with Lance. He looked franticly around. It seemed as if only he and Keith had made it to the ship. The others could be seen in the far distance fighting small Galran fighters by the masses. They were relentless in their barrage. 

“We can’t let them leave with the journal!” Allura yelled. “It would mean the end…” 

Lance gulped and watched as the ship sped towards its means of escape. Simple fire, Lance and Keith’s combined, would not be enough. They needed something that packed a bigger punch, something to disable or even to push the ship off course enough to spare more time. Something like… Lance’s eyes caught sight of the main engine, tucked tightly beneath the heft of the ship. ‘Well shit,’ he thought as a planned formed. It was a bad plan for many reasons. One being because of the stupidity of it all. Lance needed not only to incapacitate the main engine, but also provide enough force to propel the ship off course. Lance was really regretting not fixing those cameras about now. Yet if there was one good thing he could do for the team, it would be this. At least he could fix this one thing. 

Taking a deep breath, he called to Keith. “Cover me, Keith!” he said and then flew. He flew faster than he had in a long while. Blast came from side to side, no doubt from Keith’s covering fire. 

“Lance!” Keith screamed. “You need to slow down, you’re not going to be able to…” The words trailed off. Lance imagined Keith had caught on to the plan. “You idiot! What do you think you’re doing?! Lance!” 

“Sorry man,” Lance whispered as Blue barreled into the engine. For a blissful moment Lance thought everything might turn out okay. The ship shuddered with the force and shifted. Seconds passed before Lance felt the heat of the engine. It grew and Lance’s world blurred red. The explosion threw him from his seat, Lance’s body bouncing limply from wall to wall. Everything ran together in the chaos of the moment.

“Lance! Lance!” 

Lance’s ears rang and he continued to tumble like a rag doll. He’s faintly aware of a burning in his side. He knew, somehow, that he’d been impaled. Probably by debris, there’s enough of it floating around. It didn’t really matter, the flood of blood he felt seeping into his flight suit bodes worse things. Lance was still spinning, or perhaps that was just his head. He’s sure he had hit his head at some point. Yet the pull in Lance’s stomach, a weird mix of nausea, told Lance a far clearer picture of his fate. The wormhole grasped at him, yanking him down into the spiraling depth. He would no doubt die alone, far from the others. The sounds of fighting had ceased. All was quiet. 

“Lance!” 

Lance could barely make out Keith’s voice and for a moment he thought it just the concussion talking. He knew that he was now galaxies away, floating in foreign space. Yet here he was, listening to the one voice hell bent on haunting him. 

“Keith?” Lance whispered, finding irony that Keith would be the last person Lance thought of as he died. Bastard did always have to have the last word. Not that it mattered now; his eyes began slipping closed with heavy fatigue. Lance knew, vaguely, that at some point he began falling. Pulled in by some planet’s gravity. But, the blackness crawled at the edges of Lance’s vision and seeped in to consume him. His consciousness faded with every tick and Lance fell into the inevitable abyss thinking only this: 

_At least I allotted to something… It wasn’t all meaningless… I wasn’t meaningless…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> I have about a 3rd of the next chapter done and there are only two parts left! 
> 
> see you next time! 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://akiruchan.tumblr.com/).


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